


Old Sins and New Confessions

by kittenofdoomage



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Heartbreak, Humor, Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 14:48:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16020149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenofdoomage/pseuds/kittenofdoomage
Summary: John Winchester saved your life when you were a kid and for six years, you were a Winchester. Then, an incident leaves you abandoned in Atlanta. Eventually, after John dies, you reunite with the brothers, but ten years later, your past feelings come back to life.





	Old Sins and New Confessions

You stared at your phone, willing it to call. Being relegated to the bench for such a huge fight made you feel useless and Sam had promised to call when he was on his way back. For a little while you’d napped, anxious of how broken Sam would be when he came home.

If he lost Dean this time, there was no getting him back.

When napping hadn’t worked, you’d tried to watch television but your mind wouldn’t stop.

Dean was ten when you’d met him. John had taken you in when you were twelve, orphaned when your parents were hunted down and killed by a vengeful ghoul pack.

They were keeping you for later when John had burst in and saved you, leaving you with only a mild case of hypothermia and a few small bite marks. He’d nursed you back to health with every intention of dropping you at a hospital as soon as he was sure you weren’t going to talk about it.

It became his excuse. People would think you were insane and lock you up. You knew all about hunting from your parents, the exact reason they’d been a target. You could shoot as well as Dean and recite Latin on command.

John knew the next generation needed protection and the excuse that they’d lock you away faded into nothing until you were just one of the Winchesters. You took the name and the short lifespan that came with it.

When you hit puberty, things had gotten tense. You and Dean would fight (nothing had changed twenty years later) and you’d sneak out, causing problems on hunts. Eventually, John grounded you and you’d flung back that he wasn’t your father.

“If I was, I’d put you over my fucking knee, you ungrateful bitch,” he snarled and it should have terrified you but it didn’t.

It settled after that… for a while. Until you were nineteen and John caught you in a truckstop bathroom with a guy nearly twice your age.

He’d driven you to Atlanta with your single bag of possessions and left you with a friend of his. You didn’t even get to say goodbye to the brothers.

You missed them desperately but John was so angry - he’d knocked the guy out before he could get a word in edgeways. He wouldn’t speak to you - it was silence the whole way to Atlanta and he said little more than a goodbye that was laced with disappointment.

In your fantasies, he came back for you, realizing that you were his.

You stayed in Atlanta for a year but you’d never lived anywhere long. Your parents were hunters, nomads; it was in your blood to be the same. Striking out on your own, you formed a partnership with another hunter, an older guy named Bill who showed you a lot more than how to hunt.

He was killed four years later, heart torn out by a werewolf. For months, you were on your own, until you bumped into Bobby on a spook case. He told you what had happened to Sam and Dean, breaking the news that John was gone.

The news hurt. Your teenage fantasy of him had never gone away. A piece of your heart had always been John’s, from the minute he dragged you out of that filthy cellar as a frightened little girl.

You stayed at Bobby’s, finally reuniting with Sam and Dean. It was only natural for you to fall into routine with them again. You stayed with them throughout the apocalypse, holding each brother together as best you could. Maybe you were doing it for their father, seeing as he couldn’t be there.

Dean gave you a picture of his dad. “I know he was proud of you,” he said, handing over the single shot of John, lounging in the driver’s seat of the Impala. Sam had taken the picture during his brief obsession with photography. “I don’t know why you left but I’m really glad you’re back.”

Ten years later and you were still there, and Dean still didn’t know that you hadn’t left. You didn’t wanna make him feel worse about his dad than he already did. John had his reasons - he just chose not to share them.

The bunker door opened and you listened, hearing footsteps coming down the stairs. Years of living in close quarters with the brothers meant that you knew their footfalls - these were light and feminine. Heels clacked on the steps and you snuck towards your door, grabbing your gun from your underwear drawer. You left your feet bare, sneaking out into the corridor.

Some blonde woman in a power suit was snooping around the bunker. She was armed, perfectly coiffed and you scowled, keeping to the shadows. You knew this bunker inside and out - the odds were in your favor.

When the woman moved from the war room to the library, you cocked your gun quietly, getting as close as you could before yelling; “Don’t move!”

She shrieked and held her hands up, turning to face you. Her expression wilted at the sight of the loaded pistol inches from her nose. “I surrender!” she squeaked, her British accent clipped and irritating.

“Who the hell are you?” you demanded, keeping a firm hold on the gun. “How did you get in here?”

“My name is Lady Toni Bevell,” the blonde stuttered out. “Men of Letters. London Chapter.” It was a mouthful and the woman was shaking head to toe but you knew an act when you saw one. You’d played helpless damsel one too many times.

The second you turned your back, she’d strike.

Without any warning, you brought the gun up, delivering a sharp jab to her temple with the butt of your gun. Lady or not, she crumpled to the floor like a sack of shit.

Rope was always on hand in the bunker, which was kinda kinky now you thought about it, and it took you less than five minutes to secure the woman. You headed up to the front door, checking it was locked and that Lady Bevell didn’t have any company.

Thirty minutes later and Sam walked in the door, followed by Castiel. You’d hit Lady Bevell harder than you’d thought; she was still unconscious, slumped in the chair.

Sam was a mess and as soon as he walked in, you went to him, hugging him tightly, knowing how hurt he was. You felt it too, that deep grief, knowing you’d never see Dean again.

“Who is this?” Castiel asked, standing in front of the woman.

“Apparently she’s from the British Men Of Letters,” you informed him, cupping Sam’s face. “You need anything?”

“No,” Sam replied, kissing your forehead. “Stop sistering me.” He moved away, walking over to the bound woman, looking down at her with a determined expression. You watched him, all too aware he was following the classic “Dean” pattern of grief. Sam was going to throw himself into work.

“She’s been out for a while. I hit her pretty hard,” you moved over to stand opposite Cas and he reached down, touching the woman’s forehead. She woke with a gasp, big wide eyes looking around the room. “Hey,” you greeted, “remember me?”

*****

Eventually, when they’d gotten to the bottom of what the woman wanted, Cas and Sam had freed her. You had left them to it, needed a little bit of time alone to process.

“Is she going to be okay?” Cas asked, looking over at Sam as he made some coffee in the kitchen. Toni was sitting at the bench, still wary of her captors, quietly observing.

“She’ll be fine,” Sam murmured. “As fine as any of us can be.”

The bunker door opened and both men were instantly on edge. At the table, Toni looked around in fear, her hands pressed against the surface in front of her. “You bring company?” Castiel demanded and the woman shook her head insistently.

Sam pulled his gun, “stay here,” he ordered the angel, who nodded in response. You were already in the corridor, gun drawn, when Sam emerged.

“Is it a day for break-ins?” you growled, receiving a shrug in response. Sam took the lead, going ahead of you into the library, keeping out of sight as he heard voices in the war room. You lowered your weapon, looking at him in confusion. “Is that -”

“Dean?” Sam asked, stepping out into view, shock and disbelief on his face. Dean was at the bottom of the stairs - he wasn’t alone but the other person was out of sight, face shielded by the bars of the staircase. “You’re -”

“Heya, Sammy,” Dean grinned, accepting Sam’s frantic hug when the younger man crossed the room in three strides. They embraced and Sam was almost in tears, clinging to his brother like he’d disappear at any moment. “Got a surprise for ya,” the elder brother murmured.

Sam opened his eyes, his heart stopping dead at the sight of the man behind his brother, coming down the last few steps and revealing himself. “Dad -”

John Winchester smiled, leaning against the pillar at the bottom of the stairs. “Hey, Sammy,” he greeted. He looked exactly as he had the last time he’d seen him, minus the arm sling and busted lip.

A stunned gasp made all three Winchesters turn around, their eyes landed on you, dressed in one of Sam’s oversized shirts and a pair of leggings, barefoot with your gun dangling in your fingers. John’s expression dipped into a frown and you stared at him, feeling like you were going to burst into tears.

Forcing a smile onto your face, you shrugged. “Hey, Dean,” you whispered and he moved towards you, scooping you up into his arms. “Good to see you alive.” Dean laughed, holding you close. “Like, really good.”

“You too, kiddo. Sorry for benchin’ ya back there.” He kissed your forehead in much the same fashion as Sam had earlier before pulling away.

“You’re alive,” Sam muttered, looking at his dad with either awe or fear - you suspected it was the first. “Here. Alive -” His head swiveled to Dean. “How?”

Dean scratched the back of his head. “Well, it turned out Amara just needed a bit of family therapy - she went off with Chuck. Left me with a cryptic ‘you gave me what I needed, let me return the favor’. Found Dad wandering through the woods.”

Sam was nodding like he understood what any of it meant and you… you couldn’t take your eyes off of John. You were closer to the age he had been the last time you saw him and he didn’t look like he’d aged much. “She brought you back,” you whispered. John’s dark eyes focused on you, his throat clenching as he swallowed.

“Dean told me you were here,” he muttered, not seeming entirely happy about the idea. What had he and Dean talked about? Did Dean finally know the reasons you’d disappeared way back when?

“Listen,” Sam interrupted, breaking the tense eye contact. You looked away, deciding not to deal with your immediate emotions. As Sam began to tell them about the woman in the kitchen, you headed back to your room, reacting as well as you could for someone who’d laid eyes on the dead man they’d loved since they were old enough to know what love was.

Which meant packing a bag.

John was back. His boys needed him.

They didn’t need you to hold them together anymore.

*****

Dean sat in the library, nursing a bottle of scotch. He should have been happy - he’d survived, he had his Dad back, Sam was okay…

Except the world couldn’t give them a moment of peace. The Men Of Letters London Chapter were breathing down their necks and Dean had only just gotten their motives straight in his head when Cas returned from your room to announce that you were gone.

None of them had seen you leave. Dean was convinced it was something to do with John’s return - he’d been vocal about his displeasure that you’d been hunting with them for so long.

“I left her in Atlanta,” he’d confessed. “With a friend who had a job and a place to live lined up for her.” Dean remained silent as John explained he’d sent you away for your own safety, realizing it wasn’t your duty to carry on for the next generation. Your parents had indoctrinated you into hunting from birth - John was trying to save you.

Dean called him a liar and didn’t say anything more on it.

You’d left your two cellphones on your bed, along with the spare set of keys to Baby and the key to the bunker. Knowing the bunker like you did, it was easy to sneak out without them spotting you and when Dean checked the garage, he found your truck gone, the space next to the Impala empty.

“Where would she go?” Sam asked, entering the library. He’d known Dean was in there, knowing he’d be drowning his sorrows liquor. “Does she… do we know anyone she’d contact?”

“If Y/N wanted us to know where she was, she’d tell us,” Dean growled. “She’s gone, Sam. She won’t come back.”

Sam looked confused until the common denominator for both of your disappearing acts walked into the room. John had a dark expression on his face, not the sort of expression someone has when they’ve been given a second chance at life.

Dean poured his brother and father a drink, toasting them silently and all three Winchesters drank without a word. Until Sam couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“Why did she leave? When we were kids?”

John fixed him with a steely look. “I wanted to get her out of hunting. It wasn’t on her to live the life.”

“Bullshit,” Sam called. Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering his brother’s name in warning. “No, Dean,” Sam spat. “We’re not the same, Dad. It’s been ten years.”

“You think I don’t know that?” John snarled, slamming his drink onto the table. Drops of whiskey landed on the table and Dean closed his eyes.

Ten years hadn’t really changed a whole lot, it would seem.

“If you wanted her to have a normal life, you wouldn’t have objected to me leaving either,” Sam mumbled, his tone low and threatening. “Why did you send her away?” John remained stubbornly quiet. Scoffing, Sam pushed away from the table, storming off in disgust.

Dean sighed, dropping his hand to the table. “Why didn’t you just tell him?” he asked, meeting his father’s eyes. John’s expression softened. “He would have understood. He’s not a kid anymore.” Dean paused, looking away. “Hasn’t been for a long time.”

“I shouldn’t have told you,” John replied dryly.

The younger man laughed at that. “The way you reacted when I mentioned her name was enough to clue me in.” John managed a smile, hunching himself over the table. “I don’t get why she just… left.”

“I do,” John sighed, closing his eyes. “She’s scared of me.”

Dean stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “Why the hell would she be scared of you?” he asked, confused by the statement. “She’s never had a reason to be scared of you, no more than me or Sam did. And the things we’ve seen… Dad, I hate to burst your bubble,” he leaned in, “but you ain’t scary.”

“No, I guess I’m not,” John chuckled, tilting his head slightly. “But she was a kid. And I… I did something pretty…”

“What?” Dean’s voice was hard - it didn’t matter if you were a couple of years older than him, he loved you like he loved Sam.

“I caught her at a truck stop,” John admitted, “with a guy old enough to be… well, me.” His son remained quiet as John looked down at his hands. “I beat the guy to a pulp and dragged her out of there, stuffed her in the car and took her to Atlanta. Didn’t say a word to her the whole drive.”

Dean regarded him for a few minutes, processing the information. “So, she probably hates you.”

“Probably.” John sighed and picked up his drink, downing it in one gulp. “It’s for the best, Dean.” He stood, patting his son on the shoulder and Dean nodded, watching him walk away.

*****

You hadn’t gone far. Despite your defiant thought that the boys wouldn’t need you, your heart kept you within a few miles. The motel you’d holed up in was pretty nice and you wouldn’t deny that you’d taken advantage of the buffet to eat your emotions.

Three servings of chocolate brownie smothered in whipped cream and your binge eating ended in nausea so you took yourself off to your room, unpacking your laptop to watch Netflix until you fell asleep.

Dreams of John haunted you. Nothing that had ever happened; just your deepest darkest desires brought to life by your mind, leaving you twisted in the sheets and panting, eventually waking to finish yourself off. You laid there afterward, wondering how the man could have such an effect on you after so long.

You were still tied up in your sheets when Castiel appeared out of nowhere, making you shriek like he always did. His expression was the same as usual; stoic with a hint of completely done.

“Is knocking ever going to be your thing, Cas?” you asked, tugging your sheets up to cover yourself. The angel arched an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. “Did they send you?”

“I assumed you wouldn’t go far,” he replied, walking over to the bed. “You were upset by John’s return.”

“I wasn’t upset,” you rushed to defend yourself, shaking your head and Cas’ expression remained the same. “Okay, I was a little… upset… but…” You narrowed your eyes. “You’re going to tell me I overreacted, aren’t you?”

Castiel stared at you for a moment like he was considering his reply. “It was a unique situation. I wouldn’t presume to know how you would react.” He was so full of bullshit at times it was unreal and it took only a second for his stiff composure to wilt away. “You overreacted,” he informed you wryly. “You are a different person to who you were when John was alive. You are older.”

It was very hard to hide fantasies from angels that had been inside your head. Castiel had seen your memories. “Yeah. And for some reason, I saw him and I was that stupid little kid again.” You dropped your face into your hands. “Besides, Sam and Dean won’t need me there now.”

“That might be the stupidest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Castiel drawled. “Sam and Dean will always need you. You’re their family.”

You sighed, looking away from him. “I ran away like an idiot. How can I walk back in there and admit I was scared of facing John?”

Cas shrugged. “I’ve found that usually there’s a moment or two of awkward shuffling and then you all tend to forget about it and never speak of it again. Dean calls it ‘The Winchester Way’.” You couldn’t help but smile at that. “Neither Sam nor Dean would judge you for your momentary freakout.”

“And John?”

The angel sighed. “I don’t know him well enough to comment. But I know you. You’re an exceptional person, Y/N.”

“Shuddup,” you muttered, pushing him away. “Let me shower and I’ll drive back. You can tell them I’m fine.” Castiel stood up. “And you’re an asshole.”

“I fail to see how encouraging you to face your past makes me an asshole,” Cas murmured, standing up and walking towards the door. “I’ll use this next time.” A tiny feeling of pettiness prompted you to stick your tongue out and Castiel smiled before leaving the room.

*****

The Winchester Way was exactly what happened when you returned home. Sam had hugged you, obviously relieved to see you return and Dean had followed with a firm kiss to the forehead. John was nowhere to be seen and your heart thumped rapidly as you asked where he was.

“He went to visit some old friends,” Dean replied, carefully watching your reaction.

Your insecurities instantly remind you of old friends that he would want to see after so long. Who would be important enough to him? Probably a woman, it hissed and you felt like you were going to puke. It physically hurt to force a smile onto your face. “Well, I ate way too much ice cream yesterday so I’m gonna do some laundry.”

Unspoken emotions went unchallenged as you walked away, dumping your bag in the bedroom and emptying everything out. With a pile of dirty clothes in your arms, you headed for the utility room at the other end of the bunker.

The machines drowned out the noise when you finally decided to cry. At first, it was the traitorous thoughts of the other women John must know. Then, it was the notion that your insecurities were completely stupid because those women were probably ancient by now and John was the same age he had been.

Of course, your inner demons were on a roll, so they focused on the fact that you were an emotional idiot and you shouldn’t have let Cas talk you down so easily.

By the time the wash cycle had finished and the spin cycle was starting, you were out of tears and wiping your eyes and nose on one of your dirty t-shirts before stuffing it into another machine. Your face ached, swollen and red with tears - it was all kinds of pathetic.

You hid in your room for the rest of the day, busying yourself with the books you’d been meaning to read.

*****

_21 years earlier_

Chris’ hands were smoother than you expected and he kissed with a little too much tongue, but everything else was perfect. He was 38, a construction worker (with arms to prove it) and you hadn’t wasted much time. Being under the constant watchful eye of John Winchester made it hard to get laid and far too easy to get aroused.

Your crush on John had developed into full-blown feelings at some point, but the man who’d saved your life was off-limits. Not only did he treat you the way he treated his sons, he was always criticizing you. Sure, it pushed you to do better, but a girl had to let off some steam once in a while.

The truck stop bathroom wasn’t the most glamorous of places to get laid but Chris got the job done, leaving you satisfied and worn out. You’d tell John that you were tired and sleep in the backseat. He could glare at you in the rearview all the way back to Sioux Falls.

You were just pulling your pants up and leaving a lingering kiss on Chris’ lips when the door slammed open, revealing none other than your watchful guardian. Chris barely managed a “hey” before John had clocked him, pushing him to the floor and proceeding to beat him to within an inch of consciousness.

Bolting out of the open door, you ran towards the woods behind the truck stop, sobbing at the sudden horror. John let you go, finishing his assault and pulling Chris up by his collar.

“Touch her again and I’ll fucking kill you.” He dropped the man to the ground with a thud, taking off after you.

John knew woods better than you did and you had always been crap at hiding your tracks. He found you within thirty minutes, crouched at the base of a tree and crying. It started to rain and he waited a few moments, watching you.

“He didn’t hurt me,” you said, looking up at him as rain started to drip down your forehead, drenching your clothes. “It was -”

“It was stupid,” John growled. “Get up.”

“I wanted it! You hurt him for nothing.”

“I hurt him,” John was seething now, his hands clenched into fists, “because he was a goddamn pervert. Sniffing around young girls.”

“I’m not a girl,” you snapped back, getting to your feet. “I haven’t been a girl for a long time. I grew up and you’re still treating me like a twelve-year-old. Am I not supposed to have relationships? Happiness? A little bit of love?”

His dark eyes were fixed on you and the rain got harder. “Get back to the car,” he ordered, turning away.

“Fuck you,” you muttered, refusing to move. John glanced back once and then carried on. You shuffled your feet through the mud, feeling it sink through your tennis shoes. A frustrated sigh left your lips and you screeched in irritation, stomping after him.

He didn’t speak the entire way to Atlanta. You didn’t attempt to get conversation out of him. When he dropped you at Ruth’s, John would only talk to her and when he said goodbye, it was short.

You watched him drive away, not listening to Ruth as she explained where everything was. She was a lovely lady, but all you could feel from John’s abandonment was betrayal and loathing.

Mostly, you hated the way he treated you like a child. But as an adult yourself, you recognized the look in the mirror; the same look John had for something he wanted but couldn’t have. The thought of him coming back from the dead was a dream, a fantasy where he’d admit his feelings and sweep you off your feet.

Years turned his memory into an unattainable standard for men and you couldn’t settle down. It was probably for the best in the hunting line of work.

John came back from seeing his friends a few weeks later when you and the boys were smack bang in the middle of trying to nail down the devil. They were captured and it fell to you, John and Castiel to rescue them.

Three weeks into the operation, you ended up sharing a motel room with John. He was quiet around you, walking on eggshells and it only took a short time for you to get pissed off. “Would you quit it?” you snapped and John practically jumped out of his skin.

“Stop what?” he asked, innocently.

“Being so… creepy,” you growled. “You’ve been acting like you’re hosting the damn Queen and it’s creepy!”

“Sorry,” John murmured sheepishly. “I just didn’t wanna piss you off anymore. You’re… you’re different than I remember.”

You narrowed your eyes, looking at him across the room. “Different? You mean old, right?”

John snorted, shaking his head. “Sweetheart,” oh, god, why did your heart flutter like that when he called you ‘sweetheart’, “I’ve still got a few years on you.” He stepped a little closer and you stood up, alarmed by his approach. “I mean different as in stronger. Even more defiant than you were as a kid.”

The use of the word made you curl inwards, putting your defenses back up. “Of course, I’m stronger,” you commented slowly, keeping your voice even. “Losing people does that to you.” His shocked expression gave you a little happy feeling of smugness and you laid back on your bed, pulling the covers over yourself, not bothering to undress. “Goodnight, John.”

*****

The frustration of the hunt for Sam and Dean led to more frostiness and knocking of heads between you and John. By the time you’d actually managed to rescue them - sort of - you were outright not talking to him. The tension back at the bunker was palpable and the boys didn’t know what was going on.

You headed out on a solo hunt, needing some space away from anything Winchester and it was bliss. Wanting to punch John and fuck him at the same time was becoming a distraction - you needed to pick one or the other. Deciding that fucking someone was less likely to get you time in a sheriff’s jail cell, you headed out to a bar.

Robert was tall, suave and sexy as hell. He was older by a couple of years but that was about as far you got before you were dragging him back to your motel room.

He was offended when you called out the wrong name and left without giving you his number.

You finished the case and returned home, feeling like you were doing a walk of shame as you returned to the bunker, slinking through the hallways to hide in your room. The atmosphere was just as tense as when you left and John was gone again.

“Something happen?” you asked Dean, appearing at his door with a six pack of beer. He looked up and smiled, beckoning you in.

Between the new series of Games Of Thrones and the beer, Dean told you about the showdown the night before. Sam had dropped a few truths on John, Dean too, and the whole thing had exploded, almost ending in violence.

Luckily, the bunker had plenty of places for people to stomp off to and cool down. That morning, Dean and Sam had emerged from their solitude and found John gone, a text following shortly to say that he would be back soon but needed to cool off.

“What truths?” you asked and Dean grumbled, not making any sense. “C’mon, dude. You’ve ranted about your dad more times than I can count. What’s one more?”

“Everything,” Dean sighed. “Sam isn’t one to hold a grudge but damn,” he leaned back on the bed with a whistle, “he held a grudge.” A knock on the open door preceded Sam’s entry.

“It wasn’t a grudge,” the younger Winchester said. “It was a list of grievances that needed to be aired.”

“It didn’t need fisticuffs,” Dean growled and you rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “Things were said. Things have been aired. Now can we please go back to bottling up our feelings until we explode?” His phone went off and he reached for it, swiping at the notification. “Dad’s heading to New York.”

“A hunt?” Sam asked, perking up a little.

You snorted. “Probably. It’s all he lives for.”

“What happened between you two while we were gone?” Dean asked, scowling at your reaction. “Did you fight? Did you fuck?” Sam pulled a face. “Did you fight and fuck?”

“You’re gross,” you retorted as Sam put his fingers in his ears.

“I’m not the one acting like the fucking ice queen, sweetheart,” Dean replied, folding his arms. “You and Dad have been like bears with sore heads since we got free.” Sam was still holding his fingers in his ears and Dean glared at him. “We’re not talking about sex, Sam.”

You stomped towards the door, pushing past Sam and into the hallway. Making sure to slam your bedroom door shut so they knew you were pissed, you threw yourself onto your bed and stewed.

Sam and Dean didn’t disturb you until the next morning, when the taller of the two knocked on your bedroom door, offering a bag of breakfast bagels that smelled really good.

He stayed as you ate the bagel, looking at you with those big brown puppy dog eyes.

“Best breakfast ever,” you mumbled, hoping he’d get the hint and leave you alone.

“You always say that.” He stood up as you grinned, tossing the wrapper in the bin beside your desk. Sam stopped at the door, hesitating with his hand on the knob. “Y/N, you’d tell me,” he looked back with those stupidly sincere eyes, “if there was anything going on, right?”

You gave him a dry look. “Because you and Dean are always so forthcoming with what you do in your private lives.” Sam ducked his head sheepishly. “I was just… your Dad is a hard man to deal with, you know that, and-”

“Is this because of your crush?” Sam asked suddenly and you felt the heat drain from your face as you stared at him in dismay with your mouth hanging open. He turned back towards you, releasing the door. “I mean, you had a crush on him when you were younger, didn’t you?”

Shaking your head, you muttered a “no”, avoiding his eyes. But he’d found a thread and, damn, was he tugging.

“What happened between you and Dad back then, Y/N? Why did you leave?” The questions were firm, edged with warning and you frowned, snapping your eyes back to his.

“Nothing!” you snapped. “Nothing happened. He caught me making out with a guy and sent me to Atlanta without speaking to me. Like I was a little kid. I was nineteen. And I was just as capable as any of you were.” Sam watched you as you ranted, your voice even but shaky. You were clutching the sheets in your hands now, furious at what he had assumed from the situation.

“You’re still pissed about that?” Sam asked, narrowing his eyes.

“No!” You paused. “Yes!” Your shoulders sagged and you chucked your chin into your chest, closing your eyes. “I don’t know. And I don’t want to talk about it with you, or anyone, especially not John. I freaked out when he came back and now that he’s back, he doesn’t treat me any differently.”

“Hey!” Dean called, appearing in the doorway as he opened the door, forcing Sam to step back. “Think we got a case.” It was perfect timing and you jumped out of bed, heading for your closet. “Sam,” Dean snapped, getting his brother’s attention. “C’mon, man. Give her some privacy, jeez.”

*****

You volunteered to go into the gas station and get some snacks for the drive, which gave Dean the perfect opportunity to accost his brother. As soon as you were out of earshot, he turned on the younger Winchester with a glare.

“What the hell was that this morning?”

Sam looked at him blankly. “What?”

“With Y/N.”

There was a moment where Sam simply frowned and Dean knew he was going to lie. “I took her some breakfast. Not like I haven’t done it before.”

“You talk to her about Dad?”

And there it was. Sam’s tell, an imperceptible little upward twitch of his left eyebrow. No one could possibly notice it unless you were someone who spent an absurd amount of time in his company. Dean was lucky enough to be that person. Unlucky when Sam went for the cheese and bean burrito.

“No.” Sam’s lie was unconvincing and Dean scowled.

“What did you say?”

“Jesus, Dean. I asked her about her crush on Dad. If it was the reason she left.” Dean groaned and dropped his forehead to the steering wheel as Sam shrugged. “What?! It’s not like it wasn’t obvious. I mean, it was gross but -”

Dean groaned a little louder, rocking his head from side to side. “You’re a moron. I don’t know how you ever got laid.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Sam ground out, blowing his hair out of his eyes. “Dean, if she’s still got a crush on him then we should… y’know…” Dean lifted his head and looked at his brother with a frown. “I mean, it’s not like Dad’s much older now. I dunno. Maybe we should set them up, get them to talk. They’ve gotta be more bearable if they’re getting along.”

“Are you kidding me?” Dean drawled slowly. “You wanna play matchmaker?” Sam nodded, a mischievous spark in his eye. “Here’s a list of reasons why that’s a bad idea; one, you’re an idiot; two, Y/N is gonna kick your ass; three -”

“She’s coming back,” Sam interrupted and Dean went quiet, staring into the rearview mirror as you climbed back into the car, grinning at them.

“We ready?” you asked and Sam smiled over his shoulder, nodding as Dean started the car and pulled away from the gas station. “Hey, guess what? They had those special edition red vines!”

*****

The hunt turned out to be a human monster, so you, Dean, and Sam had left enough evidence for the police to deal with it and walked away. Humans weren’t your line of work and despite your disdain for the authorities, you knew they were better suited to the task than you were.

Dean kept taking phone calls the whole time and Sam was texting constantly, both of which were grating on your nerves. They kept looking at you funny and by the time you were halfway back to Lebanon, you’d had enough.

“What is going on with you two?” you hissed when Dean gave Sam one of his patented sideways looks. “Has this got something to do with earlier, Sam? Because I was kinda hoping to forget about it.”

“Uh-uh, you’re not getting out of this the Winchester way,” Dean warned. “Besides, Sammy and I,” Sam glared at him, “have agreed not to hide our feelings and emotions and… stuff.” He was rolling his hand as he spoke but it only made both you and Sam glare at him harder. “Okay, fine, so we’re lying. We just… “

“We think you should talk to Dad.”

Your expression was deathly still, murder in your eyes. “I said she was going to kick your ass,” Dean mumbled, shooting an “I told you so” look at him. Sam clenched his jaw and turned in his seat to look at you.

“Look, we know you like him.” You wanted to stab Sam in the throat; metaphorically, of course. But he persisted, giving you one of those earnest looks that always worked on little old ladies. “And you guys just need to talk it out.” He was dropping a hint and doing it poorly.

“Talking it out,” you replied, eyes like steel. You crossed your arms over your chest. “You mean talk about me not being a nineteen-year-old?” Sam’s eyes dodged yours for a split second but it was enough to tell you the truth. “Talk about how he did what he did for my own good, how disappointed he is in me?” You sat back. “Pfft. John won’t agree to talk to me anyway.”

“He will if he doesn’t know,” Dean laughed, catching your eye in the rearview mirror. He took the next exit off of the freeway and you stared at him in confusion.

“Where the hell are we going?”

Sam turned back around, staring out the front window of the car. Dean started to whistle.

“Oh my god, you are children,” you snapped. With nowhere to go and both of them ignoring you, you slumped down in your seat, sulking.

It was another twenty minutes before Dean pulled the car up to a roadside diner and you screwed your nose up as you looked out of the window. Sam and Dean got out of the car and you followed. “I’m hungry,” Dean said as if it explained everything and you growled in frustration, stomping off towards the door.

Sam glanced at Dean. “You think this is gonna work?” Dean asked him and Sam shrugged.

You opened the door and stepped into the diner, finding a booth. Within a few seconds, you looked out of the window, seeing the boys getting back into the car. “What the hell…” You trailed off as you ran to the door just in time to see the Impala peel away from the diner, kicking dust up into the air.

Coughing, you screamed in frustration. What were they doing? Leaving you in the middle of nowhere? Abandoning you?

If it was a prank, you were going to kill the pair of them. So they didn’t come back.

Your phone started to ring in your pocket and you answered as soon as you saw Sam’s name flash up. “What the fuck are you playing at?” you snarled viciously. “I’m gonna shave your head, Sam. You’ll never be able to sleep again because I’ll be waiting and Dean -”

“Would you shut up?” Sam demanded and you went silent in shock. “Look, there’s a good reason for this. So just trust us. You got about five minutes until he gets there -”

“Who?” you snapped. “Who’s getting here?”

“Just go in and take a seat.”

“Sam -”

“You’re gonna be fine, Y/N, trust us.”

The line went dead and you yelled again, stomping your foot on the ground. Turning on your heel, you went inside, ignoring the shocked looks of the other patrons. You went back to the booth and slumped down, face like thunder. The waitress approached cautiously with her little notebook in hand.

“Can I get you anything?” she asked.

You sighed, nodding. You weren’t going to take your mood out on her. “Yeah, can I get a coffee and a stack of pancakes?” The waitress nodded and scurried away, leaving you to stare at the table like it might fix everything. You looked up when a shadow fell over you and you expected the waitress.

John’s dark eyes met yours. His beard was thicker than it had been, more grey in his hair than when he’d come back. “Hey, sweetheart.”

Goddammit.

He slid into the seat without waiting for your permission and the waitress approached, taking his order. John barely looked at her as he ordered coffee and eggs. His eyes remained on you and you didn’t notice when the waitress placed your coffee in front of you.

“Did you know I was going to be here?” you asked, running your fingers around the saucer under your coffee cup.

John’s eyes were twinkling with amusement. “I had a feeling the boys were up to something. When I saw the Impala driving past me, I started to catch on.” He chuckled. “I saw you through the window when I parked.”

“And you still came in?”

He stretched out in the seat, his thin blue sweater stretching over his chest and your eyes wandered a little. “Those boys of mine,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “Always were a couple of troublemakers.” Leaning forward, John leaned on his forearms. “They’re stuck in the middle and they’re forcing us to talk.”

The waitress appeared with your pancakes and John’s eggs a few minutes later. You both ate in silence, neither of you sure what to even say to the other. He finished his eggs first, watching you over the rim of your coffee cup.

“I think,” he started, his voice a low murmur, “that maybe I should explain myself.”

It was only politeness that made you speak, sort of the way you’d always deferred to John like that. “No, you don’t have to.”

He chuckled, stroking his beard and you wondered if it felt soft to touch. Stuffing your mouth with more pancake to shut yourself up was a good idea.

“I really do,” he insisted, putting his cup down. “What I did, I did because I was selfish. Because I was seeing you as more than the little kid I rescued from ghouls.” He sighed, looking into his cup. “And since I came back, I keep trying to see her, trying to remind myself that you are in this life because of me and I have no right to ask anything of you.”

You swallowed your mouthful, staring at him in shock. “I’m not in the life because of you,” you said quietly. “I’m alive because of you. And to be honest, I shouldn’t have been doing that in a truck stop anyway -” John’s jaw clenched and you stopped dead, deciding it best not to bring it up.

“You know why I overreacted?” he asked and you instantly wanted to reply with the words “because you’re a jerk” but you had a feeling it wouldn’t go down so well. John sighed heavily, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I overreacted because he touched you. Because it wasn’t me.”

The admission made your heart stop in your chest and you didn’t say a word. John watched you for a moment before reaching across the table.

“I know you probably hated me for a long time -”

“No!” you said, smacking your hand down on his before he could remove it. “I didn’t.” He frowned at you and you loosened your grip, smiling sheepishly. “I mean, I did. I really wanted to hit you for a long time but… it was only because I cared about you.”

“Cared about me?” John repeated and you nodded.

“It was nothing, just a silly little crush and I was a kid and -”

“You’re deflecting,” he muttered, turning your hand over. “I can feel how hard your heart is racing.” His fingers were pressed into the pulse on your wrist and you swallowed around the rapidly forming lump in your throat. “Right here.” John reached over with his other hand, ridiculously larger than yours, and stroked two fingers across your palm. “And you’re shaking.”

The heat between your thighs was escalating and you managed to look him in the eye without wetting yourself. “I didn’t expect anything,” you whispered. “I got on with my life.”

“And I died,” he murmured softly, still tracing the lines of your palm.

“But now you’re back.”

John’s eyes were darker than you remembered but his smile - that panty-melting, white-toothed grin that made his eyes crinkle up in the corner and his ears lift just a tad. With the beard, it was even more predatory and seductive than it had before.

“Now I’m back,” he agreed. “Was it really a silly crush?” You nodded nervously, squeezing your thighs together. “Because if it was and it’s over, there’s no reason to tell you that I beat the crap out of that guy because I wished it was me. I wished it was me you were hanging off, half-dressed with that just-fucked glaze in your eyes.” John’s voice was so low, you were sure he had a direct line to your vagina. You shuddered when he tugged your hand a little closer. “I sent you to Atlanta because I was seconds from away being that guy.”

The image of John fucking you in a truck stop bathroom, his hands leaving marks on your skin, was one you’d played over in your head a million times. And this time, it drenched your panties.

“What did you want to do?” you whispered, forgetting about your pancakes.

John hummed, lifting your hand and turning it again so he could kiss your fingers. You shuddered visibly this time, hoping there wouldn’t be a wet spot on the seat. “I want to fuck you until you can’t walk straight. Want to hear what you sound like when you cum when I’ve got my tongue buried in your tight little pussy.”

Your lungs stopped working and you swallowed, gasping for breath. Sweat was breaking out between your boobs and you shifted, snatching your hand back when the waitress returned, giving you a puzzled look. She took your plates, asking if you would like anything else.

“No, thank you, darlin’,” John purred, still not looking at her. You shrunk into your seat like a naughty child and avoided her eyes. She trotted away and John stood up, tossing a few ten dollar bills onto the table and walking around to hold out his hand to you. “You comin’?”

*****

Finding a motel was easy and John could hardly wait to get you through the door, tugging your coat off before his own. You were quick to remove your shirt, watching him drag his sweater over his head at the same time as kicking his shoes off.

You’d just about unbuttoned your pants when he decided that not touching you was unacceptable and almost took you off your feet in his haste to get you onto the bed. You were giggling when you landed underneath his body weight, but the sound was soon drowned out when John resumed kissing you.

His hands wandered underneath you, his thick fingers unhooking your bra. You dragged it down your arms, pulling it from between you to drop it over the side of the bed. John growled against your mouth when your hard nipples pressed into his chest.

“You know how long I thought about this,” he muttered, kissing down your throat toward your breasts. He circled one hardened peak with his tongue, smirking as he went and keeping his eyes on you. You gasped and arched into him, clasping his head with both hands. “How long I’ve thought about tasting you?”

He went further south, between your breasts, kissing your skin. John tucked the tips of his fingers into the waistband of your pants and underwear, dragging them down your thighs until he could fling them across the room.

“You’re still wearing clothes,” you complained and John smirked, laying back down with his shoulders spreading your thighs. He flicked his tongue out, tracing the outline of your labia, and you moaned long and slow in pleasure.

His pants became a non-issue as John started to tease your clit with his tongue, making your thighs shudder. John sucked lightly on the bundle of nerves, two fingertips pressing into your aching pussy. When he growled against you, your whimper turned into a gasp when his fingers fully slid into you. John’s growl became a chuckle and he twisted them, dragging them against your inner walls.

You were panting now, fighting against the reflex to press your thighs together as John thrust his fingers into you, his tongue torturing your clit. Pressure in your belly started to become too much and you cried out, reaching down with one hand to grasp his short hair.

It only made him press closer, his beard tickling your inner thighs. You clutched the pillow underneath your head like it might give you the strength to let go.

John’s teeth grazed your clit at exactly the same moment his fingers dragged against that exceptionally sensitive spot deep inside you. Your control dissipated with a shuddering breath and a long wail that had John repeating what he’d done over and over again escaped your mouth.

His fingers were drenched when he pulled away and as soon as you could, you clenched your thighs together, rolling onto your side as you tried to catch your breath. John climbed off of the bed, chuckling to himself at your disorientation.

“You okay there, sweetheart?” he asked, walking around the queen, unbuckling his pants and pushing them down. You groaned, rolling over onto your belly.

“I can’t feel my legs,” you whispered. John grabbed your hips, pulling you up, and you yelped in surprise.

“These legs?” he crooned, his mouth right against your ear, hands stroking down over your still-shaking thighs. You moaned and leaned back against him, closing your eyes as his hands inched closer to your pussy.

“Yeah,” you whispered, whining in disappointment when his hands started to move back up again. John smirked, kissing the spot below your ear, following the line of your neck down along your shoulder. His hands came to a stop, cupping your breasts.

When John shifted, you felt his cock, thick and leaking against your ass. Arousal made you flush like a teenager as he rutted against you, groping your breasts in his huge hands. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured. “You always were.”

You hummed, barely hearing his words as he teased your nipples between his fingers and thumbs, rolling them until you squeaked. With a final kiss to your neck, he pulled away, letting you fall down onto all fours. You stuck your ass up in the air, drunk on happy hormones.

John groaned as he framed your ass with his hands, hooking his thumbs into your pussy lips to spread them open. “Want me to fuck you, princess?” You nodded, tucking your arms underneath your chest, grasping at the sheets with your cheek pressed into them. “Like this?” You nodded again and John chuckled. “You think you can take all of my cock inside you the first time like this?”

You shuddered, pushing back against his hands. “Please, John, fuck me.”

A smile spread across his face and he pressed the tip of his cock into you. “Patience,” he growled when you pushed back again. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“What if I ask nice?” you teased, wiggling your ass, and John growled again, slapping one side sharply.

“Enjoy the moment,” John murmured, feeding you a little more of his dick, pulling back a fraction to ease back in again, your natural slick coating his skin. “You’re so wet, baby girl.” He was picking up a little pace now and just when you thought he was fully inside you, he seemed to push in more. When the tip of his cock pressed against your cervix, you inhaled sharply.

John thrust the rest of the way in and you screamed in pleasure, closing your eyes tight.

He stopped, feeling you shudder around him, trying to cling to his own control. One of his fists dipped the mattress with his weight behind it; the other hand was curled underneath you, splayed across your belly possessively.

“John,” you murmured, breathing heavily as you felt his cock twitch inside you. “Fuck me.”

An almost primal sound left his lips and he withdrew, keeping his hand underneath you. He was almost free when he thrust back in violently, eliciting a high-pitched cry from your lips.

Someone banged on the motel wall but neither of you paid attention. You were lost in the sensation of John fucking you, his sac hitting your clit with each hard thrust. The obscene sound of his hips smacking against your ass echoed around the room, competing with the sound of the cheap motel bed squeaking and thumping into the wall.

You came a second before he did, your whole body shaking and shuddering as warmth filled your belly and John grunted, growling his way through his peak. Cum dripped out of you onto the bed covers, dribbling down your thighs when he pulled away and let you roll onto your back, covering your body with his.

“You mean to tell me,” you whispered, “that we could have been doing that this whole time?”

John chuckled, kissing you deeply. “Yeah. What a waste, huh?”


End file.
